


Day 20 - Dancing

by elessar_undomiel



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge - Johnlock [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ballet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Mention of Tattoo!lock, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Does Ballet, Teenlock, Two Pining Idiots, ballet!lock, balletlock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elessar_undomiel/pseuds/elessar_undomiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Teach me.”<br/>“No way.”<br/>“Please Sherlock, teach me!”<br/>“Why? Why would you want to learn to dance?”<br/>John didn’t know how to answer. Because he was a clumsy rugby player while Sherlock was the most graceful creature on earth? Because Sherlock loved dancing and John loved Sherlock? Because it was a great excuse to touch him without scaring him off? He used his last trump card, hoping it was enough.<br/>“Please, Sherlock… for me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 20 - Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Tanzen von elessar_undomiel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161094) by [bernerRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bernerRose/pseuds/bernerRose)



> Thank you for the translation, from the bottom of my heart! :)

“Teach me.”  
“No way.”  
“Please Sherlock, teach me!”  
“Why? Why would you want to learn to dance?”  
John didn’t know how to answer. Because he was a clumsy rugby player while Sherlock was the most graceful creature on earth? Because Sherlock loved dancing and John loved Sherlock? Because it was a great excuse to touch him without scaring him off? He used his last trump card, hoping it was enough.  
“Please, Sherlock…  _for me_?”  
Sherlock sighed dramatically. “Fine. Just once. I have practice now, come in a couple of hours.”

* * *

 Sherlock was furious with himself. Why did he do anything John asked? Why did he do it even if it hurt? John didn’t want to tell him the reason of his request and he had blushed. So it was probably related to some new girlfriend. Mary, probably: she was the only dancer that attended his same courses.

So Sherlock was going to spend the afternoon teaching him to dance and knowing it was for some stupid chick, touching him and being touched knowing it wasn’t for real. Great. And he had accepted because when John said ‘for me’ he couldn’t say no.  
God, he was so screwed.

* * *

 John spent an hour walking around the block, then he went back in: he was too nervous, and watching Sherlock always calmed him down. He remained on the threshold, leaning against a jamb, feeling an unreasonable wave of jealousy towards the teacher, whose hands were on Sherlock’s hips, helping him with his balance.

God, he was so ethereal. His long legs wrapped in three quarters leggings, his chest barely covered by a large singlet, his toned arms bare, covered in tattoos which disappeared into the vest.  
He spent the next hour staring at his perfect body flexing, almost floating in the air. Not a great idea after all, because at the end of the lesson his trousers were definitely too tight. He tried to get a grip while Sherlock was at the loo, but quite in vain.

* * *

 Sherlock splashed his face with cold water. As if it could help. But he needed to be strong.  _For John_. Always for John. Everything for John. He could do it for John.

He took off his ballet shoes and went back to the dance room barefoot; John was waiting for him propped against a wall, tight jeans and a snug t-shirt displaying his muscular body, shaped by years of rugby.  
He took a deep breath.  _For John_.

* * *

 Sherlock taught him how to hold him, where to put his hands, and John realised that he should have never done it. It hurt. Holding him in his hands as if they were something they were not, something they’d never be. But it was too late, and John tried to enjoy the moment.

Sherlock taught him how to move, taught him the basic steps and then said it was just a matter of practice, and they kept spinning.  
John tried to pull Sherlock a bit closer and he complied.

* * *

 The feather touch of John’s hands on his hips burned like fire. He felt his hand pressing against his back and played on it, getting closer. He hoped John wouldn’t drift apart again: he knew John didn’t feel the same, but he needed to be as close as possible. Luckily, he didn’t.

Their pace slowed down with the passing of time. After a while he took courage, or maybe he was just surrendering to the illusory intimacy: he got even closer, their chests in contact, and rested his head on John’s shoulder. He felt John’s hand moving from his hip to his back and caressing it slowly, and he allowed himself to dream that maybe John felt the same way about him.

* * *

 Sherlock’s head on his shoulder was the sweetest weight ever. He desperately wanted to kiss him, at least on his cheek, at least on his curly temple, but he didn’t want to scare him. He simply wrapped his arm around him and enjoyed the closeness, and he allowed himself to dream that maybe Sherlock felt the same way about him.

* * *

 They remained embraced, almost motionless, until someone shouted from the corridor that the studio was closing in ten minutes. The drew apart reluctantly, and Sherlock put his shoes on, grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

“Wait!” John stopped him “Don’t you have a jumper or anything?”

Sherlock didn’t look into his eyes and kept walking. “No, but I’m fine.”

John grabbed his wrist. “Wait, you can’t go out like this, you’re gonna catch a cold! Here, take this.” He held him his rugby jacket.

Sherlock finally looked at him, his eyes filled with tears, released his hand and pushed John away.

John was shocked, he thought that he had fucked everything up, that he had crossed the line, that he had indulged in his dreams and now he was paying for it.

“Stop it” Sherlock shouted, trying to stop his tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Just stop it, stop acting like this, stop acting as if… as if you… I can’t do this anymore, it’s not your fault, but I can’t… It hurts… please, stop it… please…” His voice had lowered to a pleading whisper.

And John finally realised, and he smiled. He dropped his jacket to the floor, reached Sherlock and cupped his cheeks, stroking the tears away from them with his thumbs and pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should have… but I thought you didn’t feel the same way, so I just kept it inside. Dear God, Sherlock, if I only had known!”

And he brushed his lips against Sherlock’s in a sweet, chaste kiss, brief but full of love and promises.

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, both of them smiling, their cheeks flushed. Then John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him tight, placing tender kisses on his head, that was once again resting on his shoulder.

When the voice shouted that the studio would close in one minute, they drew apart again and grabbed their bags. On their way to the exit, John placed his jacket on Sherlock’s shoulders and pecked his cheek, happy as can be.

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously considered to write an angsty fic about Sherlock teaching John to dance before the wedding, but I wasn't strong enough after yesterday's heartbreaking fic ^^  
> I'll probably write it one day, though! :)  
> Hope you liked this one! xx


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